Assassin's Apprentice (39 page)

Here I looked up sharply. Those were Chade’s words, I’d bet my blood on it. Did that mean that this wedding was something Chade was helping to engineer? My interest became keener, and I wondered again why I had been summoned to this breakfast.

“It’s a matter of reassuring our folk, Verity. You have not Regal’s charm, nor the bearing that let Chivalry convince anyone that he could take care of any matter. This is not to slight you; you have as much talent for the Skill as I have ever seen in our line, and in many eras your soldierly skills in tactics would have been more important than Chivalry’s diplomacy.”

This sounded suspiciously like a rehearsed speech to me. I watched Shrewd pause. He put cheese and preserves on some bread and bit into it thoughtfully. Verity sat silent, watching his father. He seemed both attentive and bemused. Like a man trying desperately to stay awake and be alert when all he can think of is putting his head down and closing his eyes; well, Verity certainly looked at least that tired. My brief experiences of the Skill and the split concentration it demanded to resist its enticements, while bending it to one’s will, made me marvel at Verity’s ability to wield it every day.

Shrewd glanced from Verity to me and back to his son’s face. “Putting it simply, you need to marry. More, you need to beget a child. It would put heart into the people. They would say, “Well, it cannot be as bad as all that, if our prince does not fear to marry and have a child. Surely he would not be doing that if the whole kingdom were on the verge of crumbling.’ ”

“But you and I would still know better, wouldn’t we, Father?” There was a hint of rust in Verity’s voice, and a bitterness I had never heard there before.

“Verity—” Shrewd began, but his son cut in.

“My king,” he said formally. “You and I do know that we are
on the brink of disaster. And now, right now, there can be no slackening of our vigilance. I have no time for courting and wooing, and even less time for the more subtle negotiations of finding a royal bride. While the weather is fine, the Red-Ships will raid. And when it turns poor, and the tempests blow their ships back to their own ports, then we must turn our minds and our energies to fortifying our coastlines and training crews to manage raiding ships of our own. That is what I want to discuss with you. Let us build our own fleet, not fat merchant ships to waddle about tempting raiders, but sleek warships, such as we once had and our oldest shipwrights still know how to make. And let us take this battle to the Outislanders—yes, even through the storms of winter. We used to have such sailors and warriors among us. If we begin to build and train now, by next spring we could at least hold them away from our coast, and possibly by winter we could—”

“It will take money. And money does not flow fastest from terrified men. To raise the funds we need, we need to have our merchants confident enough to continue trading, we have to have farmers unafraid to pasture their flocks on the coast meadows and hills. It all comes back, Verity, to your taking a wife.”

Verity, so animated when speaking of warships, leaned back in his chair. He seemed to sag in on himself, as if some piece of structure inside him had given way. I almost expected to see him collapse. “As you will, my king,” he said, but as he spoke he shook his head, denying the affirmation of his own words. “I will do as you see wise. Such is the duty of a prince to his king and to his kingdom. But as a man, Father, it is a bitter
and empty thing, this taking of a woman selected by my younger brother. I will wager that having looked on Regal first, when she stands beside me, she will not see me as any great prize.” Verity looked down at his hands, at the battle and work scars that now showed plainly against their paleness. I heard his name in his words when he said softly, “Always I have been your second son. Behind Chivalry, with his beauty, strength, and wisdom. And now behind Regal, with his cleverness and charm and airs. I know you think he would be a better King to follow after you than I. I do not always disagree with you. I was born second, and raised to be second. I had always believed my place would be behind the throne, not upon it. And when I thought that Chivalry would follow you to that high seat, I did not mind it. He gave me great worth, my brother did. His confidence in me was like an honor; it made me a part of all he accomplished. To be the right hand of such a king were better than to be King of many a lesser land. I believed in him as he believed in me. But he is gone. And I tell you nothing surprising when I say to you that there is no such bond between Regal and me. Perhaps there are too many years; perhaps Chivalry and I were so close we left no room for a third. But I do not think he sought for a woman that can love me. Or one that—”

“He chose you a queen!” Shrewd interrupted harshly. I knew then that this was not the first time this had been argued and sensed that Shrewd was most annoyed that I had been privy to these words. “Regal chose a woman, not for you, or himself, or any such silliness. He chose a woman to be Queen of this
country, of these Six Duchies. A woman who can bring to us the wealth and the men and the trade agreements that we need now, if we are to survive these Red-Ships. Soft hands and a sweet scent will not build your warships, Verity. You must set aside this jealousy of your brother; you cannot fend off the enemy if you do not have confidence in those who stand behind you.”

“Exactly,” Verity said quietly. He pushed his chair back.

“Where do you go?” Shrewd demanded irritably.

“To my duties,” Verity said shortly. “Where else have I to go?”

For a moment even Shrewd looked taken aback. “But you’ve scarcely eaten. . . .” He faltered.

“The Skill kills all other appetites. You know that.”

“Yes.” Shrewd paused. “And I know, too, as you do, that when this happens, a man is close to the edge. The appetite for the Skill is one that devours a man, not one that nourishes him.”

They both seemed to have forgotten entirely about me. I made myself small and unobtrusive, nibbling on my biscuit as if I were a mouse in a corner.

“But what does the devouring of one man matter, if it saves a kingdom.” Verity did not bother to disguise the bitterness in his voice, and to me it was plain that it was not the Skill alone that he spoke of. He pushed his plate away. “After all,” he added with ponderous sarcasm, “it is not as if you do not have yet another son to step in and wear your crown. One unscarred by what the Skill does to men. One free to wed where he will, or will not.”

“It is not Regal’s fault that he is unSkilled. He was a
sickly child, too sickly for Galen to train. And who could have foreseen that two Skilled Princes would not be enough,” Shrewd protested. He rose abruptly and paced the length of the chamber. He stood, leaning on the windowsill and peering out over the sea below. “I do what I can, son,” he added in a lower voice. “Do you think I do not care, that I do not see how you are being consumed?”

Verity sighed heavily. “No. I know. It is the weariness of the Skill that speaks so, not I. One of us, at least, must keep a clear head and try to grasp the whole of what is happening. For me, there is nothing but the sensing out, and then the sorting, the trying to fix navigator out from oarsman, to scent out the secret fears that the Skill can magnify, to find the faint hearts in the crew and prey upon those first. When I sleep, I dream them, and when I try to eat, they are what sticks in my throat. You know I have never relished this, Father. It never seemed to me worthy of a warrior, to skulk and spy about in men’s minds. Give me a sword and I’ll willingly explore their guts. I’d rather unman a man with a blade than turn the hounds of his own mind to nipping at his heels.”

“I know, I know,” Shrewd said gently, but I did not think he really did. I, at least, did understand Verity’s distaste for his task. I had to admit I shared it, and felt him somehow dirtied by it. But when he glanced at me, my face and eyes were empty of any judgment. Deeper within me was the sneaking guilt that I had failed to learn the Skill, and was no use to my uncle at this time. I wondered if he looked at me, and thought of drawing on
my strength again. It was a frightening thought, but I steeled myself to the request. But he only smiled at me kindly, if absently, as if no such thought had ever crossed his mind. And as he rose and walked past my chair, he tousled my hair as if I were Leon.

“Take my dog out for me, even if it is only for rabbits. I hate to leave him in my rooms each day, but his poor dumb pleading was a distraction from what I must do.”

I nodded, surprised at what I felt emanating from him. A shadow of the same pain I had felt at being separated from my own dogs.

“Verity.”

He turned at Shrewd’s call.

“Almost I forgot to tell you why I had called you here. It is, of course, the mountain princess. Ketkin, I think her name was. . . .”

“Kettricken. I at least remember that much. A skinny little child, the last time I saw her. So, she is the one you have selected?”

“Yes. For all the reasons we have already discussed. And a day has been set. Ten days before our Harvest Feast. You will have to leave here during the first part of Reaptime in order to reach there in time. There will be a ceremony there, before her own people, binding the two of you and sealing all the agreements, and a formal wedding later, when you arrive back here with her. Regal sends word that you must—”

Verity had halted, and his face darkened with frustration. “I cannot. You know I cannot. If I leave off my work here while
it is still Reaptime, there will be nothing to bring a bride back to. Always, the Outislanders have been greediest and most reckless in the final month before the winter storms drive them back to their own wretched shore. Do you think it will be any different this year? Like as not I would bring Kettricken back here to find them feasting in our own Buckkeep, with your head on a pike to greet me!”

King Shrewd looked angered, but kept his temper as he asked, “Do you really think they could press us that greatly if you gave off your efforts for twenty days or so?”

“I know it,” Verity said wearily. “I know it as surely as I know that I should be at my post right now, not arguing here with you. Father, tell them it must be put off. I’ll go for her as soon as we’ve a good coat of snow on the ground, and a blessed gale lashing all ships into their ports.”

“It cannot be,” Shrewd said regretfully. “They have beliefs of their own, up in the mountains. A wedding made in winter yields a barren harvest. You must take her in the fall, when the lands are yielding, or in late spring, when they till their little mountain fields.”

“I cannot. By the time spring comes to their mountains, it is fair weather here, with Raiders on our doorsills. Surely they must understand that!” Verity moved his head about, like a restless horse on a short lead. He did not want to be here. Distasteful as he found his Skill work, it called to him. He wanted to go to it, wanted it in a way that had nothing to do with protecting his kingdom. I wondered if Shrewd knew that.
I wondered if Verity did.

“To understand something is one thing,” the King expounded. “To insist they flaunt their traditions is another. Verity, this must be so, done now.” Shrewd rubbed his head as if it pained him. “We need this joining. We need her soldiers, we need her marriage gifts, we need her father at our back. It cannot wait. Could not you perhaps go in a closed litter, unhampered by managing a horse, and continue your Skill work as you travel? It might even do you good to get out and about a bit, to have a little fresh air and—”

“NO!” Verity bellowed the word, and Shrewd turned where he stood, almost as if he were at bay against the windowsill. Verity advanced to the table and pounded upon it, showing a temper I had never suspected in him. “No and no and no! I cannot do the work I must do to keep the Raiders from our coast while being rocked and jolted in a horse litter. And no, I will not go to this bride you have chosen for me, to this woman I scarce recall, in a litter like an invalid or a witling. I will not have her see me so, nor would I have my men sniggering behind me, saying, “Oh, this is what brave Verity has come to, riding like a palsied old man, pandered off to some woman as if he were an Outislander whore.’ Where are your wits that you can think such stupid plans? You’ve been among the mountain folk, you know their ways. Think you a woman of theirs would accept a man who came to her in such a sickly way? Even their royals expose a child if it is born less than whole. You’d spoil your own plan, and leave the Six Duchies to the Raiders while you did it.”

“Then perhaps—”

“Then perhaps there is a Red-Ship right now, not so far that they cannot see Egg Island, and already the captain of it is discounting the dream of ill omen he had last night, and the navigator is correcting his course, wondering how he could have so mistaken the landmarks of our coastline. Already all the work I did last night while you slept and Regal danced and drank with his courtiers is coming undone, while we stand here and yatter at one another. Father, arrange it. Arrange it any way you wish and can, so long as it does not involve me doing anything save the Skill while fair weather plagues our coast.” Verity had been moving as he spoke, and the slamming of the King’s chamber door almost drowned out his final words.

Shrewd stood and stared at the door for some moments. Then he passed his hand across his eyes, rubbing them, but for weariness or tears or just a bit of dust, I could not tell. He looked about the room, frowning when his eyes encountered me, as if I were a thing puzzlingly out of place. Then, as if recalling why I were there, he observed dryly, “Well, that went well, didn’t it? Still and all, a way must be found. And when Verity rides to claim his bride, you will go with him.”

“If you wish, my king,” I said quietly.

“I do.” He cleared his throat, then turned to look out his window again. “The Princess has a single sibling, an older brother. He is not a healthy man. Oh, he was well and strong once, but on the Ice Fields he took an arrow through his chest. Passed clean through him, so Regal was told. And the wounds on his chest and back healed. But in winters, he coughs blood, and
in summer he cannot sit a horse nor drill his men for more than half the morning. Knowing the mountain folk, it is full surprising that he is their King-in-Waiting.”